If we met you at Urbana, thanks for stopping by. We would love to stay in contact with you and continue to support your journey into economic discipleship.
Click on the image below for the powerpoint to our Urbana seminar.
What if Jesus were your financial advisor? What if the Son of God and His disciples were in charge of all your saving, spending, investing, and giving? At first glance, the idea seems a bit silly, perhaps even disrespectful. Jesus came to die for our sins, not dispense advice on mutual funds, right?
But actually, the New Testament turns out to contain an awful lot of financial insight. In fact, Jesus and the apostles talked about it way more than other important ethical issues, such as sexuality. Today I did little experiment to shed some light on what Jesus’ meta-message as our financial advisor would be. First, building on several years of previous study, I decided to identify every passage in the New Testament that is directly relevant to the way we manage our money. After a full morning’s work, I highlighted seventy-five passages (not including about 30 additional parallel texts). Then I noted the basic theme of each text and put them all on an Excel spreadsheet. Here’s a summary of the results:
As you can see, by far the most prominent theme in the New Testament is that our wealth is intended to be shared with the poor. A close second was the idea, variously expressed, that money is somehow dangerous or at least distracting to our spiritual life. Those themes make up more than TWO THIRDS of the New Testament’s teaching on money. A final prominent theme is basically to not worry too much about money, because God will provide.
Surprisingly, less than eight percent of the relevant passages spoke about giving to support the pastor or the local church—which is the topic of the vast majority of “stewardship” sermons. And there was almost nothing on budgeting, saving, or investing—topics that make up the vast majority of Christian financial stewardship books.
In summary, here’s what the two Great Commandments of Jesus’ financial advice look like to me:
Now that is some weird financial advice. You definitely won’t hear anything like that from Prudential or Charles Schwab. For me, spending almost an entire day poring over these teachings really drove home just how radical and counter-cultural Jesus is, especially for those of us coming from a society that reveres material accumulation like no other in history.
But why not check out the Jesus’ advice for yourself? I’d like to invite you to reflect personally on the wisdom in my spreadsheet. If you just do about ten passages a day, it will only take a week. And it just might be good news for your (financial) life.
One month ago it was Lent. I was coming to the end of my commitment to drink only tap water for forty days. Now it is Eastertide, a time of rejoicing in the hope of the resurrection. And as part of the celebration, I can drink anything I want. Orange juice, cranberry juice, two-buck Chuck, Newcastle brown ale, soy milk—it’s all there, just waiting to be enjoyed.
In the past, I’ve been suspicious of giving up things for Lent because I feared that it didn’t really promote spiritual growth. Instead, it seemed to be just a temporary exercise in giving up some sin, excess, vice, or bad habit—only to return to it with a vengeance after Easter. Christ is risen: pass the high fructose corn syrup! So now that we are on the other side of the resurrection, I’d like to take a moment to reflect on my Lenten fast. After a month, was there any lasting spiritual value in completing the Simple Living Challenge?
Actually, at least for this month, I have seen some valuable benefits. I’m still much more conscious of those without clean water, and was inspired to do something about it. So far, the habit of turning to a glass of water when I’m thirsty still endures. I’m spending less on expensive and unhealthy drinks.
But most importantly, I think I gained a firmer grasp of the role of abstinence in cultivating a lifestyle of abundance. Here’s what I mean: although am more content just drinking tap water, when I do decide to enjoy something else—like a simple glass of orange juice—it’s SO AWESOME! After 40 days of only water, when I take a swallow of that golden liquid with extra pulp, it tastes like the nectar of the gods.
About a month ago, another kind of “Lent” also came to an end for me. After almost three years in Central America, I moved back to my home state of California. Instead of being an immigrant in a country not my own, I am now surrounded by familiar friends, tranquil places to think and work, an abundance of wonderful food from all around the world, and (thanks to Amazon) any consumer good I could want delivered right to my door for about half of what it would cost in Costa Rica.
Before my time abroad, I took all this stuff for granted—it was just part of my birthright as a middle-class American. None of these things are especially luxurious by American standards. But now it feels like the tremendous wealth it is. Because of three years of abstinence, everything seems so abundant.
Yet I know that soon the wonder will wear off. After about the fifth time I eat a taco truck burrito or a Vietnamese sandwich, I’ll still enjoy it, but it will no longer seem like such a feast. The glories of being able to flush toilet paper will cease. Such novelties will wane, and the impulse to get MORE stuff and BETTER stuff will grow stronger. Contentment will fade and covetousness will follow.
Obviously, this is a familiar pattern: getting bored with what we have, and then wanting something better. We expect and need to be constantly “better off” as our life progresses. It seems to me that there are at least two possible responses to this phenomenon. The default is to take the well-travelled path of the American Dream, centering our lives around the pursuit of more, slowly strangulating our desire for the simple, generous lifestyle to which Jesus calls us.
But there is also another approach. We can allow our lives to be guided by the historic rhythms of the church, in which time undulates between seasons of feasting and fasting, abstinence and abundance, Lent and Easter. In this model, when we become bored of food or drink or cars or other stuff, instead of trading them in for something better, we fast from some of these things for a time, so when we return to them, it is with a new sense of appreciation and abundance. At least I think that’s what I appreciate about my recent experiences of Lent. It seems trite to say it, but I now believe just a little bit more that true abundance is found in wanting what I have instead of getting what I want.
How about you? Anyone want to share the long-term impact of your Lenten practice?
My first date with my future wife was a group backpacking trip to Kings Canyon in California. One of the highlights of that weekend—besides launching our marriage—was dinner the night we arrived. We had hiked in 11 miles and had brought scarce snack food for the trail to minimize weight. It had taken forever to set up the campsite. We were almost shaking with hunger by the time we got the fire going. So we got out our freeze-dried dinners, added some boiling water, waited two and a half minutes instead of the three you’re supposed to, and dived right in. Sitting out there in the open air, gazing dreamily (but subtly) at Jodi, savoring every tongue-burning bite—it truly deserves to be called a feast.
About ten years later I was on a retreat at the the Society of St. John the Evangelist’s Emery House in rural Massachusetts.. It was one of my infrequent experiences of fasting, and after a full day and night I dined with the monks. We ate without speaking, only spoons scraping plates to break the silence. It was corn from the farm next door, homemade bread, and squash soup, all prepared very simply. As my food preferences generally lean toward the “massive carne asada burrito with lots of hot sauce” kind of thing, I was not expecting anything spectacular. But I was wrong. The bright, fresh tastes, savored without distraction, were perhaps the purest joy I’ve experienced through food.
These are two of my most wonderful memories of eating. It surprises me that they came to mind first because objectively they are not my favorite tastes. In fact, one time we had a leftover freeze-dried backpacking meal, so we ate it around the kitchen table just as an experiment. It was horrible. We couldn’t even finish it. And to this day I still don’t like squash. But both meals took place in the context of fasting, and I think they were unforgettable because my hunger made me so fully appreciate every nuance of the taste.
Right now I am two weeks into my Lenten commitment to drink only tap water, and I think I’m experiencing some of the same dynamic. First, because I can’t have them, I’m appreciating much more the awesomeness of orange juice, tea, and cas (a kiwi-like fruit juice only available in Central America.) I’ve noticed how often during the day I absent-mindedly go to the refrigerator for a little shot of liquid tastiness. So I think I’m learning to really savor the privilege of access to such luxuries. That big, cold glass of high pulp orange juice on Easter is going to be spectacular. But I don’t want to underestimate plain old water either. Despite all the shelves and shelves of manufactured thirst quenchers, it’s hard to beat the original.
So for me, I think this Lent’s Simple Living Challenge is deepening my sense of what God meant when he created water and fruit and tea leaves and said “It is good.” When my life is just an all-you-can eat buffet or an unlimited refills large drink, I begin to experience diminishing returns in terms of taste and thankfulness. I know that the rhythm of feast and fast that marks the traditional Christian calendar means more than just deeper appreciation of food and drink, but it certainly does not mean less.
How about you? How’s your experience of fasting (tap water or otherwise) this Lent?
People come to Costa Rica for its tranquil beaches, stunning volcanoes, and wildly diverse plants and animals. But my favorite thing about living here is the water. You see, other times I’ve lived overseas, accidental imbibing of tap water has inevitably led to bouts of writhing in pain on my bed for hours, accompanied by other unpleasant and unmentionable symptoms. But here I haven’t gotten sick even once in three years. I don’t even think about it. It’s wonderful.
But today, on Tap Water Tuesday, I wanted to find out if Costa Rican water could pass a more stringent test: the taste test. Every Tuesday in Lent we’ll be discussing various aspects of clean water, one of the most important topics in global justice today. There are many health, environmental and economic reasons to prefer tap water to bottled water (to be discussed in later posts), yet many people pass up the tap because of taste. So for lunch today I got my family together for a blind taste test.
We had three candidates:
Straight tap water, prepared according to the advice of Megan Z, Simple Living Challenge participant and scientist: We ran the tap a bit to get fresh water that hadn’t been sitting in the pipes (waiting until the water ran cold.) Then we collected it in a pitcher & waited a bit because the water naturally dechlorinates when it sits out (you want the chlorine to kill germs in treatment & as the water gets to your house, but it’s not so tasty.)
We chilled each candidate to the same temperature and placed them in wine glasses. We included a fourth glass of tap water just to see if we could tell the difference between two identical water specimens. Here are the results: utter confusion. Isaiah liked the Fiji best, but the Alpina worst. Camila rated identical glasses of tap water the best and worst. Jodi preferred, in order, Alpina, then tap water, then Fiji, then tap water. I liked tap water best, then Fiji, then Alpina. None of us correctly identified the identical glasses of tap water. So according to our taste buds, water that costs almost three times the price of gasoline was indistinguishable from decidedly unsexy tap water.
Perhaps we’re just water philistines with undeveloped palates, but I doubt our experience is that unique. Many studies have shown that our perceived taste preferences are often due to packaging, marketing and the desire to feel sophisticated rather than objective reality. But why not find out for yourself before you spend another dime on bottled water? Have your own blind taste test with friends or family–perhaps even a prize for whoever can guess correctly. We’d love to hear your results if you do….
Happy Tap Water Tuesday!
“What are you giving up for Lent?” I usually have mixed feelings when I hear that question this time of year. On one hand, I deeply value Lent as a way to prepare myself to celebrate the death and resurrection of Christ. I appreciate the opportunity to grow in one specific aspect of my faith and character for a defined amount of time. On the other hand, I often don’t know what exactly to do, and the churches I’ve attended rarely have done anything together, so I flounder.
But five years ago a group of friends came up with the most inspiring Lenten idea I’ve ever encountered. They were concerned by the painful fact that one of every eight people today has no access to clean water. Women and children must trudge long distances to find dirty, bacteria-infested water, keeping them from school or productive work. Once they drink it, they inevitably get sick. But my friends also pointed out that those of us from more privileged backgrounds often pass up free, clean, healthy tap water to drink sodas and other high-fructose concoctions that are prime contributors to the obesity and diabetes epidemics.
The great thing about my friends’ response is that they didn’t just think about these hard truths, which feels bad. They did something about it—which feels good! They called it Project 440. The nine of them, inspired by their faith, decided to drink only tap water for the duration of Lent, bringing attention to the issues while saving themselves money and improving their health. Meanwhile, through March Madness basketball pools, raffles at house parties, and matching grants, they raised enough money to drill deep-water wells for five villages in Haiti. Not a bad answer to “what are you giving up for Lent?”!
I think Project 440 was so memorable for me because it convinced me that small groups of friends have big potential to make a difference–both for themselves and for people like those in Haiti still drinking clean water today. In fact, I’d like to celebrate Lent in a similar way every year. But unfortunately, for the last few years I haven’t been in close proximity to like-minded friends, so I’ve let my vision languish a bit.
So this year, using this space now available in the blogosphere, we’d like to propose a new Lent experiment. We’re calling it the Simple Living Challenge, and we hope it’s a fun, meaningful way to concretely reflect Jesus’ justice and compassion, even if we’re separated by distance. Here’s how it works:
So what’s next? This Ash Wednesday, the first day of Lent, we’ll kick off a six-day window for everyone to sign on. The Simple Living Challenge will begin at sunrise on Tuesday, March 15. If this sounds like something you’d be excited about, we’d especially encourage you to spread the word and participate together with friends, family or church small groups. Please consider joining us!
Come, you who are blessed by my Father; take your inheritance, the kingdom prepared for you since the creation of the world. For . . . . I was thirsty and you gave me something to drink.
Fill in the blank: Chris is a successful __________ .
What word did you think of? For me, it was “businessman.” Maybe it’s because I live in money-centric Silicon Valley, or maybe that’s the zeitgeist of the entire U.S. Maybe you filled in a different word, like pastor. What connotes a successful pastor? I think of “big congregation” / “famous” / “multimillion-dollar budget.” I doubt these are God’s values, but they are society’s idea of success. How about “successful philanthropist”? To most people, it means someone who was successful at making a lot of money, and then gave it away as an afterthought. Not someone who was good at giving money away effectively. Perhaps it’s just hard to measure effective giving, or there’s not a lot of competition in the field.
Another common phrase is “trappings of success.” Google “trappings” and you get: The outward signs, features, or objects associated with a particular situation, role, or thing: “I had the trappings of success”. In my mind I picture it as rich gold epaulettes or a cape over your shoulders. That’s right — this bling *shows* I’m successful. But consider how people acquire material objects to show success, and how much it traps them through care and upkeep. Home ownership is the most common example — new homeowners are often shocked by the amount of time and money it takes to maintain and upgrade their property.
What does it mean to be a successful spouse or parent? Few would argue that these roles are less important than our jobs, but the word success doesn’t go well with them. At best, a successful parent is one who raises successful kids. But can I be a successful husband? Does it come with a performance-based executive compensation bonus plan?
In my opinion, the most insidious part of success is its insatiable appetite. The New York Times recently ran an article with the insightful line:
Hence the cliché: law school is a pie-eating contest where the first prize is more pie.
The reward for success is generally the opportunity for more work and more difficult challenges, which recalls the wisdom from Bladerunner: “The candle that burns twice as bright burns half as long.”
When I think about my emotional investments and compare them with my ideal values, I find I’m overweighted in success. I’d like to lead a more balanced life, with more compassion, fellowship, laughter, and memorable experiences. What about you — would you like to have more or less of a focus on “success” in your life?